Let Me Help
by Kiki's Fan Service
Summary: K/S Kirk is struggling with the stress of command. Spock is adorable as always. Don't worry, the story is better than my summary. *Live Long and Prosper*
1. Chapter 1

Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise stumbled to his room, exceedingly grateful that there were no officers in his path to see his weary, unkempt expression and deter his progress of reaching his room and his bed before he lost control. The captain typed in his room code and the door opened. He scrambled through it, and flopped onto the bed as the door mercifully slid shut, but not before a dejected sob pierced the empty hallway.

Kirk huddled into a fetal position in the middle of his bed. Blankets and pillows were strewn across it and hastily wrapped around his shaking figure as he lay on his side. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly as tears streamed down his cheeks. His chest heaved with silent sobs.

It was just so hard to deal with everything that was going on. The Enterprise was an amazing ship. She was what he had always wanted. He was captain, and damn proud of it. But it was so exhausting. He kept a positive attitude in front of his crew. They needed his example, his encouragement. Everyone was used to his exuberance, fake or not, and they accepted it, even admired it. It made Kirk feel sick inside. His crew, his family, they admired his emotions when he did not admire them himself. He hated himself.

He was so young, and trying so hard, but there were things that he just could not deal with, there were things he couldn't fix, people he couldn't save. The pressure and the overwhelming emotions, the mask that he wore, were so heavy, so hard to carry and deal with. He knew what was expected of him, and he used everything he had, the core of his being, in order to perform perfectly. He knew he didn't succeed, and that was what killed him, that he tried so hard, and still couldn't make things right.

He had always felt that way. He didn't know how to deal with his intellect, with his emotions, with his situation in life. He ended up at bars, with slutty girls he wouldn't even remember the next morning. He still tried to drink his burden away when he couldn't figure out another way out. He still brought women and men to his room, to try to distract himself with… physical stimuli.

He was so tired. Completely and utterly exhausted, worn out. And yet he kept going, because he knew that his crew needed him, the Enterprise needed him, the universe needed him. However, all that pressure was just so hard to bear, especially at such a young age. He was in his early 20's and in command of a starship. The Enterprise, no less, and he knew what he was signing up for.

But it was just so hard.

And so he cried. All the time, his cheeks were stained with trails of tears. He made sure to keep silent as he wept, not wanting the crew to overhear. He let the emotion out in a way that he had seen his mother do, and so many depressed or drunk (or both) cadets in the Academy. He let the poison in his heart out through his tears, but only because he knew that no one would see them. All his life, he understood the concept of bullies, of fight-or-flight, of never showing weakness. Once again, he understood the negative effect showing weakness had, especially to enemies or people you are trying to command. And he would not show this weakness. He had no choice. He had known what he was signing up for. Hadn't he?

The silent crying slowed to a stop as Jim Kirk stretched and wiped away the last wet streaks on his face. Shuffling to the bathroom, he washed his face vigorously. He looked up at the mirror, and saw a different man staring at him. This man was filled with sadness. Sadness easily covered, apparently, but sadness non-the-less. He sighed slowly and plastered a cheesy grin on his face as he changes his shirt into something less tear-stained.

Captain Kirk stepped out onto the bridge, a cocky, confident smirk on his face, and the tears shoved to the back of his mind as he braced himself for another stressful, trying day.

The next time the Enterprise ended up in a crisis, Kirk's response was, as usual, similar to all missions. He lumbered to his room, and threw himself onto the bed with a choking sob as the door slid shut.

Commander Spock was, incidentally, in need of striding down this particular corridor adjacent to Kirk's bedroom as the door slid shut. Deserted except for Mr. Spock, he heard clearly Kirk's tearful cry as the door closed. Curious (although he abhorred such an obvious expression of such an emotion), he pressed his pointed ear against the door to the captain's quarters. His strong hearing detected heavy breathing and… was that crying? Practically silent, but for a Vulcan's ears, it was comprehendible.

Slightly more comfortable here in this deserted hallway than surrounded by people who would be judging his emotions, he furrowed his eyebrows in an expression near to concern. He knocked briskly on the door. The door stayed shut, but there was a slight gasp inside. Quickly keying in Kirk's password, Spock watched as the door slid open, as he viewed the slightly pathetic (okay, very pathetic, but Spock knew better than to think that about his commanding officer) wad of pillows, blankets, and Jim Kirk. Internally, Spock sighed and braced himself as he stepped into the captain's quarters. Kirk's head shot up out of the blankets, and he quickly began wiping his face with the back of his hand. Spock sighed again, internally, as he watched his captain attempt to bring his emotions, and physical responses to them, under control. The door slid closed behind him as he strode toward Kirk, his hands behind his back and his face smooth. But there was worry in his eyes, and he knew that Kirk would see it, somehow he knew.

Kirk sniffled pathetically as he watched his second in command, eyes slightly bloodshot. The first words out of the captain's mouth were a raspy "I'm sorry, Spock." He then scampered out of bed and into the bathroom, fleeing Spock's all-seeing, unemotional gaze. He scrubbed his face wildly, infuriatingly repetitive and familiar motions over his face with an unforgiving washcloth and Star-Fleet-issued soap. He stared at his deep blue, sad eyes after washing, watching the red rims camouflage into his natural tan. Taking a deep breath, he sauntered out of the bathroom, his cocky attitude being forced forwards, as he almost visibly shifted into captain mode.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?"

"Nothing, sir, I just wished to see if… I mean…" Spock sounded flustered for a split second, then it was gone. "I was seeing whether you were well enough to go over our last mission. However, I see you are incapacitated at the moment. I will return later."

He moved toward the door, and turned, spotting Kirk's worry and embarrassment play across his face.

"Do not worry, Captain. I saw nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch 2.

The next week or so went by uneventfully. Kirk cried out the poison of the difficulty of command after missions, and came back with a typical cocky smile on his face.

However, Spock could not forget what he had seen of the captain. He had looked so utterly sad and pathetic, and it genuinely worried Spock. He did not like to see his captain upset, but to this extent it was actually unsettling. His dreams, when he did sleep, were filled more and more by Jim. Even his meditations were disrupted by visions, both of Jim genuinely depressed and crying, and genuinely happy and exuberant. It made his heart ache (in the metaphorical sense) and he did not know why. He only knew that he cared for his captain, and he wanted to make him better. He wanted the pain that was caused by every single life lost to be alleviated from his much-too-dear captain. He wanted to hold Kirk, and kiss away his tears, and press his fingers against him, and feel the flesh and blood of that breathtaking man against him, against his skin. But most of all, he wanted to comfort the man, only 26 and in command of a starship. Command was a daunting task for a man of any age, and Kirk was barely out of the Academy, and so painfully devoted to his crew.

Turning the corner down the familiar hallway past Kirk's quarters was almost routine for Spock now. His pointed ears would twitch to hear the sound of the captain crying. Spock would long to go inside, but would restrain himself and continue walking, shoulders maybe a little tenser, face slightly less smooth, but not a drastic change in outward appearance that would draw the attention of the crew.

Today Spock was frustrated and tired. It had been a long, depressing day. There had been another mission. Another security officer had died. Kirk was once again in his room, crying his eyes out. But today was different. Today, Spock was so tired that he didn't listen to the common sense that screamed at him from a corner of his mind. He typed in the room code and swiftly entered the room, listening to the door slide closed behind him. The lights were dim, and Kirk's back was to Spock, his shoulders hunched and shuddering slightly, like he was under a heavy weight.

Spock took a moment to assess the captain's position, Kirk's waves of emotions, and Spock's own sensitivity and determination. He relaxed his shoulders slightly, and softly stepped toward the bed. He sat on the side, and gazed at the rippling, strong muscles under the skin and tight uniform shirt, the straw, wispy lock splayed disorderly on Kirk's head, his shaking shoulders bound in gold. Spock reached a hand toward the captain, and adjusted himself so that he could stroke Kirk's hair softly, tenderly, murmuring sweet Vulcan words under his breath. Kirk stirred under the touch, but closed his eyes tighter and let the tears hit the pillow as Spock's words slowly formed a Vulcan lullaby and the rhythm of fingers through hair calmed Jim's breathing, inhalations and exhalations slowly steadying. Spock's face softened, and he moved closer to the tear-streaked man. He lifted his hand away, but before he could, Jim had caught it with his own, causing the Vulcan to blush madly and lean closer.

"Spock." It was a whisper, almost begging to make sure that he wasn't imagining something, that Spock was there, was real.

"I am here."

"Don't," his voice cracked, "don't leave me, Spock. Please."

"I will not, Jim. I…" Spock didn't know what else to say, so he borrowed a classic phrase. "Let me help."

Jim's eyes were wide as he turned to face the Vulcan. He understood. "Really?"

"Yes. I promise, Jim, I love you. Let me help."

And their lips collided, molded perfectly to fit the other, like two jigsaw puzzle pieces. Spock slowly rested his body alongside Jim's, lips still together. They didn't do anything, just let the bottled-up emotions escape, expressed through that thoroughly passionate kiss. Spock led his lips along Jim's teary cheeks, tasting the salt and washing it away. Jim snuggled closer into Spock's chest, one hand wrapped in Spock's raven hair, the other on the back of his neck. Spock nibbled the captain's lip, and was permitted entry. They explored each other's mouths, tongues intertwining and lips massaging as Spock deepened the kiss. Kirk closed his eyes, and Spock tasted fresh tears dripping down the young man's face. He pulled back, looking worried.

Jim whispered to him, "No, please. It's just… I'm happy. I am so, so happy."

And Spock smiled as he stroked Jim's soft, smooth, tan skin with his pale fingertips. Finally, he could help. His captain was safe, the ship was safe. The tears were gone. And Spock knew that he would never let them return, not while he was around to set things right.

He drowsily muttered one thing as the two lovers drifted into an easy sleep. "You are mine, t'hy'la."

And Kirk was just awake enough to press his lips to the Vulcan's forehead and murmur "and I love you."


End file.
